Chapter 2 Trapped
Trapped
Ethan
The kid—Axel—sits in the backseat of my rental truck. Every few seconds, I catch him stealing glances at me in the rearview mirror. Those gray eyes, so much like mine, make me grip the steering wheel harder.
I should have gone straight back to the airport after Cassidy agreed to take him. Should have let her figure out how to get to Britney’s place on her own when her taxi driver took one look at the piling snow and refused to drive across town to where her sister lived.
The kid needed clothes and his belongings. He’d been wearing the same outfit since social services picked him up after Britney’s death, and Cassidy didn’t want him to go another night with just the clothes on his back.
Something about the way she stood there on the social service steps, snowflakes catching in her dark hair, her luggage at her feet and that lost expression on her face, made me open my mouth and offer her a ride.
Biggest mistake I’ve made since coming back to this godforsaken place. Now I’m stuck in this car with the living proof of the worst night of my life.
And with Cassidy sitting close, every breath I take is filled with her fresh scent that used to drive me crazy. Still does, apparently, judging by my swelling dick.
I force myself to focus on the road ahead, but my peripheral vision catches every movement she makes. Outside, snow is falling steadily, the flakes growing thicker.
The wind rocks my truck as we drive through the familiar streets of Winter Bay, past the high school where Cassidy and I first met, past the diner where we shared milkshakes and talked about getting out of this place.
I’d been fifteen then, shipped off to live with my Aunt Sarah and Uncle Mike after the untimely deaths of my parents, brother, and sister in a car crash. Cassidy was the only person here who saw past the angry kid from L.A. and made this suffocating small-town feel like home.
After graduating high school in Winter Bay, I moved back to California with Cassidy for college.
When my aunt and uncle’s twin sons graduated a couple years later, they decided to move to California too.
My uncle was originally from there before he’d married my aunt and started their family in Winter Bay, so it was a natural return for them.
The wipers work steadily against the accumulating snow, their rhythm almost hypnotic as memories fade back into the present. I shake off the nostalgia to check the forecast on my phone.
The weather forecast called for light snow, maybe an inch or two. They were completely wrong, and the weather was getting worse by the minute.
Perfect timing, as usual.
Fuck.
My phone buzzes with another client email. I’ll deal with it once I get back to my hotel room. Should be a quick fix if it’s what I think it is.
I refocus on navigating toward the outskirts of town, where Britney’s place is. The one that’s so far from civilization it might as well be on another planet.
“Think we’ll make it out there and back before the storm hits?” Cassidy asks, staring at the increasingly ominous sky through the passenger window.
“We must.” I check the clock on the dashboard. “Which means being in and out quickly.”
In the back seat, Axel shifts, and when I check the mirror again, he’s hugging a worn backpack to his chest. The gesture is so small, so unconsciously protective, it stabs my conscience.
I don’t want to feel anything for this kid. He’s Britney’s son, born from a night that still haunts my dreams eight years later.
Every time I look at him, I’m reminded of waking up in bed on Christmas morning eight years ago to Cassidy’s fists and the sick realization that Britney was naked next to me.
Of the pregnancy announcement that came two weeks later, delivered with Britney’s smug smile and the implicit threat that we were now joined for life.
“Ms. Cassidy?” came the calls from the backseat.
“Yes?” Cassidy responds, her voice careful.
“Do you hate me?”
Cassidy goes very still in the passenger seat. I glance in the rearview mirror and see him watching her with those too-serious eyes.
“No,” she says finally, turning in her seat to look back at him. Her voice is softer now, gentler. “I don’t hate you, Axel.”
“Mama said it was my fault you never came to town,” he continues. “She said it’s why I don’t get Christmas presents.”
Cassidy’s breath catches, and my hands tighten on the steering wheel. Of course, Britney would blame an innocent child for her fuck-ups. Of course, she’d make him carry that weight.
“Well, your mother was wrong, Axel.” Cassidy’s voice is steady now. “It’s... more complicated than that. But none of it was your fault.”
The kid settles back against the seat, like her reassurance is enough to ease whatever worry was eating at him.
We drive the rest of the way in silence. The snow is falling harder now, accumulating on the road and making the truck slip as we navigate the increasingly treacherous dirt path. By the time Britney’s house comes into view, there’s already a thin white coating on everything.
The house is small and weathered, with peeling paint and a sagging front porch that looks like it might collapse if you sneezed on it. The windows are dark, and there’s a general air of neglect that makes the place feel abandoned.
This is where Axel has been living. This isolated, falling-down shack.
I park the truck and sit for a moment, staring at the house and trying to process what I’m seeing. The wind is picking up, making the bare trees around the property creak and sway. In the distance, the sky has turned an ugly yellow-gray that promises serious weather.
“We need to move fast,” I say, more to fill the silence than because I think either of them doesn’t already know that.
Cassidy nods, pulling her coat tighter around herself as she studies the approaching storm. “How long do you think we have?”
I check my phone, frowning at the weather alerts that keep popping up. “Hour, maybe less before the roads become impassable. Storm’s moving faster than they predicted.”
Axel doesn’t say anything. He just unbuckles his seatbelt and climbs out of the truck.
I follow him out, my expensive dress shoes slipping on the slick ground. The air cuts through my suit jacket, and the wind carries the sharp bite of serious snow.
“Christ,” I mutter, looking up at the sky. “This is going to be bad.”
But Cassidy is already following Axel toward the front door, her shoulders hunched against the cold. I can’t help but notice the sway of her ass as she walks, even bundled up in that coat. Some things never change. The kid pulls a key from his pocket and lets himself in.
I follow them inside, already knowing with sick certainty that I’m not catching my flight back to L.A. tonight. The house is dark and cold, with a damp, biting chill. It smells of stale cigarettes and something sour.
“She paid her electricity at least,” Cassidy observes, flipping a light switch. The overhead bulb flickers to life, revealing a living room that’s seen better days.
“Go get your stuff, kid,” I say.
“Okay,” Axel says quietly, already heading upstairs. “It won’t take long.”
His footsteps disappear up the staircase, followed by the sound of a door opening. And then Cassidy and I are alone for the first time in eight years.
“Jesus,” Cassidy breathes, looking around the living room with horror. “Look at this place.”
I follow her gaze, taking in the water stains on the ceiling, and peeling wallpaper. The furniture looks like it came from a thrift store’s reject pile, its fabric worn thin and stained. Empty beer bottles line the windowsill, and there are cigarette burns on every surface.
“How could she live like this?” Cassidy’s voice is tight with anger. “She raced me to motherhood and had him living in this... this...”
“Shithole,” I finish for her, because that’s exactly what it is.
“Did you see how he just... accepted it?” Cassidy continues, her voice dropping to a whisper. “Like he expects our resentment. He asked if I hated him. What has she been telling him about me?”
“Britney was always selfish, but this... this is neglect. Pure and simple.”
“Then what about you, Ethan? Why aren’t you in his life?
You should be the one raising him now that Britney is dead!
I shouldn’t even be here!” Her voice rises with each word, and I can see the fire building in her dark eyes.
The same passion that used to ignite between us in entirely different circumstances.
“Why am I not in his life? Why haven’t you been? It’s rich hearing you talk about neglect when you bolted eight years ago and never looked back. You want to assign blame? Let’s start with your bitch of a sister.”
“Are you fighting cause of me? Mama said I ruin everything. I’m sorry.”
The small voice cuts through the moment, and we turn to see Axel standing at the bottom of the stairs with his backpack.
“Axel,” Cassidy says, taking a step toward him. “We’re having a minor disagreement. Are you ready to go?”
The kid looks uncertainly between us, then nods his head.
I walk to the window and look out at my truck, which is rapidly becoming a white mound in the driveway. The storm has moved in faster than anyone predicted, and the road we came in on has already disappeared under a blanket of snow that’s getting deeper by the minute.
“Ethan,” Cassidy says quietly when she joins me. “We need to leave. Now.”
“We can’t,” I reply. “We’re trapped.” In this house. Together. For God knows how long. I run a hand through my hair. “Shit.”
Cassidy had retreated to the bathroom ten minutes ago, slamming the door hard enough to rattle the single-pane window. I check my phone for the umpteenth time, scrolling through nearby hotel options.
There’s a slim chance I could still make it to the Winter Bay Inn if I leave right now, storm be damned. It’s only a four-mile jog down the mountain.
“Are you leaving?” Axel’s small voice startles me.
I turn to find him standing in the doorway, his thin shoulders hunched against some invisible weight.
“I was thinking about it,” I admit, not seeing any point in lying to him.
He nods. “Can I give you something first?”
Against my better judgment, I follow him to the kitchen, where he opens a cupboard and pulls out a small jar. Inside are a handful of store-bought chocolates.
“I saved these,” he says, unscrewing the lid. “For Christmas. Mama doesn’t like Christmas, but I thought...” He trails off, then holds the jar out to me. “You can have one. Since you’re leaving.”
His innocent generosity shatters my composure. A spark of feeling ignites beneath eight years of indifference.
“Where did you get these?”
“The Christmas party at school. I ate one and saved these.”
I look from the chocolates to the worsening blizzard outside, and my resistance crumbles.
“I think I might have to stay after all,” I say. “At least until the storm passes.”
Relief flashes across his face before he schools his expression. “Okay.”
He screws the lid back on and returns the jar to its hiding place, arranging it behind a row of canned goods.
Everything about the gesture speaks of a child who’s learned to protect what little he has.
This little boy has been surviving on his own for years. A little boy with my eyes.